Filthy Beautiful Lies

He nods, and watches me retreat through the glass door.

I jog upstairs and search through my toiletries until I find it.

I’m slightly winded when I make it back outside and Colton’s eyes drop to see what I’ve gone to retrieve. I hold up the bottle of oil. "I thought you could use a little relaxation." I wave the massage oil temptingly in front of him and smile.

He eyes me curiously like he’s trying to figure out my motives. It never occurred to me that he’d assume I was doing this out of obligation. It was a simple gesture – something nice you’d do for a friend, or a boyfriend when he’d had a trying day.

"Strip," I order, pointing to his dress shirt. I won’t let him turn this into something weird.

He complies, watching me while he unbuttons and shrugs out of the shirt. Even though I should be used to seeing him in various states of undress by now, but each time, his masculine beauty hits me full force. His toned chest and chiseled abs look positively lickable in the glowing moonlight. Focus, Sophie. Things aren’t like that between you two. I take a deep breath and motion for him to turn over and lay on his stomach. After dropping the shirt to the deck, he rolls on his lounger, lying flat for me.

Without thinking, I straddle him, sitting right on his butt and draping one leg on either side of his hips. "Am I too heavy?" I ask.

"You’re fine," he says. He folds his arms under his chin, making his shoulder muscles bulge.

Dripping some of the fragrant lavender scented oil into my hand, I rub my palms together to warm it before spreading it over his back. His frame is so broad that my small hands seem to barely make a dent in the expanse of canvas I want to cover. At first I think he’s incredibly tense and I tell him to relax.

"I am," he mumbles.

And then I realize he’s just rock hard with muscle. Geez. I splay my hands across his upper back, rubbing steadily. I’m unaccustomed to touching a man so intimately. His skin is smooth and lightly tanned and I love the feel of him under my hands.

I rub my hands up his neck and into his hair, massaging his scalp and he groans. I’m all too aware of how I’m sitting perched on top of him. My center is resting against his firm backside and the seam of my shorts pressing against my cleft. I squirm the tiniest bit, trying to adjust the way I’m sitting, but it only puts additional friction between my thighs. My clit begins to throb in time with my accelerating heartbeat. Shit. I’m horny. I blame it on too much wine, too much warm male perfection underneath me.

I rise to my feet, needing to separate myself from his tempting body. "Flip over," I tell him. I didn’t get to rub his shoulders properly in that position. I straddle him once again – this time sitting across his thighs.

With Colton lying flat on his back, I massage his shoulders, then his firm biceps. His eyes slip closed, his mouth softens as a relaxed expression overtakes his face. I can ogle him properly in this position. And I do. From his handsome face, shadowed with a hint of dark stubble, to the thick column of his throat, down his smooth chest, the delectable grooves in his abs, to the trail of fine hair that disappears under his dress pants.

Touching his solid arms is not helping my libido. If anything, my core heats up even more and I realize I’m becoming wet. I release a grunt of frustration and his eyes open and find mine. I realize my hands, seeming to have a mind of their own, are now rubbing his chest, brushing over his flat nipples and down further to trace his abs. He releases a soft hiss. My body floods with sexual awareness like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I’m desperate to feel his hands on my body, to be consumed by the deep, hungry kisses I remember.

Colton watches me with dark eyes, his breathing shallow and rapid, much like mine.

Glancing down, I see his cock is half hard and rising the closer my hands get to his lap. My heart rate speeds up as this moment takes on a deeper meaning. I’m perched atop him, tending to him, and we’re bathed in moonlight with the soft sound of waves lapping lazily behind us. It’s perfect.

Without pausing to think, I reach for his belt buckle and undo the stiff leather, my fingers trembling as I open his pants and ease down the zipper. His cock flexes beneath the confines of his black boxer briefs and I release a tiny whimper. I want to coat my hands in oil and slide them up and down his solid length, to hear him growl out my name and watch him lose all his perfect control and come on his hard belly.

My panties are soaked and my heartbeat is pounding in all my pulse points. Just as my fingers dip inside his waistband to reach for his cock, he grabs my wrist and stops me.

"You don’t have to do that." His voice is soft, but the hold on my wrist is firm.

I’m breathless and turned on and the harsh sting of rejection is like a slap to the face. It’s totally unexpected and more brutal than ever imagined. He doesn’t want me touching him. I rise to my feet on unsteady legs, Colton’s eyes following my movements. The wine creates a sour pit in my stomach and my head is spinning. "Why did you bring me here? I want the truth." I hate that my voice is too high and shaky.

His eyes dart away from mine. "Companionship." He’s holding something back. And I want to know what. I watch him for a second longer. He adjusts himself, tucking his huge erection back inside his pants and pulling up the zipper.

"What is this…this arrangement?" I toss my hands up in the air, frustrated, both sexually and emotionally beyond belief.

"Don’t push me, Sophie."